


Cast Offs

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Spader7 on Tumblr.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cast Offs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Spader7 on Tumblr.

It didn’t matter where they began, just they ended up together that angry, abandoned place where Hawke was gone and the Warden was gone and neither of them had been deemed important enough to get to come along. It had been unrequited—a kiss, a tumble, and nothing more—but that didn’t make the wounds less raw.    
  
They were both cast off elves with no place to go, but between them they had three blades, they had stealth and strength, fury and grace, and they had each other in the way of strangers turned partners-in-crime. It started with tolerance—the isolation was killing them both, so they fell into step with one another, one hating the quiet, the other hating the incessant chatter, one wanting to touch, the other not wanting to feel his own skin.    
  
At first, it was cold nights and practicality—easier to carry one tent instead of two, warmer to sleep side by side on a bedroll, easier to pretend that it was sensibility instead of desperation. That deception didn’t last long. They latched onto one another hopelessly, because for Fenris it was all Hawke, and for Zevran it was all the Warden, but they both needed  _something_  and they were all the other had.    
  
Everything changes. Soon—sooner than either would have guessed—there was something other than grudging respect and understanding. Soon they were gentle with one another, tracing tattoos and scars with reverent fingertips, bringing together lips and bodies with less hesitation and more hunger. Soon one would wake in the middle of the night to chase away the other’s nightmares, and they’d kiss with a real affection that neither had really thought the other capable of.    
  
Then it was love, awkward, unwanted love that was originally meant for someone else. They were too alike; they had both swallowed it down so deep that it had sunk low enough to be forgotten. Then they were agitated, snapping at one another, furious that this came up again just to dredge up the rotting corpse of what had happened the last time it had. It was somehow unreasonable that Zevran wasn’t Hawke, and Fenris wasn’t the Warden, yet that sick, stupid ache persisted. They got closer to coming to blows than they ever had, snarling, claiming that they hadn’t wanted or asked for this.    
  
“I never wanted this” was the biggest lie either of them ever told.    
  
In time, they settled into the comfort and affection. They learned one another, they breathed one another in and took more than they had to give. Eventually, Zevran gave him the earring, and whatever sentiment went along with it, while Fenris gave him everything: the memories, the hate, the darkness and that little spark of light.


End file.
